


Eponymous

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flash Fic, Gen, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 07:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: Varric flees Kirkwall before the Inquisition comes to question him. He only brings a couple of things.





	Eponymous

“Tethras!” Someone hammers on Varric's door, cutting through the every-night noise of the Hanged Man. “Wake up, dammit.”

“Gneh?” Varric rolls out of bed, grabbing for Bianca. His nightshirt is ragged and half-tied; there’s beer on his breath. He's no more than half-asleep, though he left the bar two hours back.

“There’s some scary woman looking for you,” the bartender says. “Short black hair, Chantry armor. Anyone you know?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Varric says, making for his dresser. “I don’t think I feel like making her acquaintance.”

“Didn’t think you would,” the bartender says, leaning against the door. Varric looks up and flips him a coin; the bartender catches it, and it disappears between his hands.

“She just left,” he says. “You’ve got some time. Not much.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll dawdle,” Varric says. “Just need to grab a few things, and then I’ll be gone.”

* * *

Varric leans at the edge of the ship’s rail, watching the dawn light shine off Kirkwall’s chains. The buildings are tiny against the horizon already. His eyes are damply bright.

“You know, I’ve seen people stay on deck for their last glimpse of Val Royeaux,” a passing sailor says, eyeing him as she coils a rope. “Antiva City, too. Even Minrathous a couple of times. But Kirkwall? That’s a new one.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Varric says, and closes his eyes against the dwindling city. He drags his arm over his face; when he looks up, he’s smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, you ever meet Isabela?”

“Isabela the someday-captain?” she asks. “Yeah, I do. Everyone knows Isabela. She promised me a berth on her ship, when she gets it.” She snorts. “I’m not counting the days.”

“You never know,” Varric says. “Stranger things have happened. But you're right, I don’t think she’ll be back in Kirkwall any time soon.”

* * *

“What’s this?” a gate guard asks at Tantervale, eyeing Varric’s bags. “Looks like a mage’s staff, there.”

“It used to be,” Varric says, running his hands over the polished wood. “Now it’s a walking stick.”

“A walking stick,” the guard repeats, wrinkling her nose.

“It used to belong to a friend,” Varric says. The staff is warm under his hands; there are worn patches on the varnish, spaced further apart than his fingers. “He doesn’t need it anymore. C’mon, now, whoever heard of a dwarf mage?”

“You’re coming in from…” She glances down at the paperwork, and her face softens just a little. “Kirkwall. Oh. He died at the Gallows?”

“Something like that,” Varric says.

“Well…” She sighs. “You’re right, I don’t think there’s any chance you’re an apostate. Just don’t cause trouble.” She pauses, with surprising kindness. “And… I’m sorry. For your loss.”

“Thanks,” Varric says, not meeting her eyes, and hurries through the gate.

* * *

“Your crossbow has a _name_?” the kid asks.

He’s a gangly rat, no older than fourteen. The bartender is serving him watered-down beer, but she hasn’t kicked him out just yet. It’s not a stupid bar for a boy that age to hang out in, but it’s close enough to the Tantervale docks to carry the smell of the harbor, and the beer is cheap and plentiful.

“Hey, show some respect to Bianca,” Varric says, patting the stock. “She’s been with me a long time.” He takes a sip of his drink, carefully timed. He hasn’t lost his touch. “You could even call her part of the family.”

The kid snorts. “What, does that quarterstaff have a name too?”

“Funny you should ask,” Varric says, smiling, and tilts the staff towards him, tapping the blade against the wood by the boy’s toes. “Kid, meet Hawke.”


End file.
